


Of Bonsais and Bondage

by ava_jamison



Category: Batman (Comics), DC - Fandom, Nightwing (Comic), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bondage, Cliche, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-06
Updated: 2009-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_jamison/pseuds/ava_jamison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nightwing's kidnapped, Robin tracks him down. Too bad it turns out Dick was the bait, and now both of them are in real trouble, what with the sex pollen. And the blackmail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Bonsais and Bondage

Batman and Robin followed the clues on the video feed and Nightwing’s trail to the edge of Robinson Park before splitting up to go house to house. Not that these falling-down wrecks of mansions were houses anymore. Most of them weren’t fit for crack dealers and rats. Tim made short work of the last sagging, caving-in-on-itself main structure. The stairs had been iffy, but he’d taken the chance and from a certain angle from the second story, looking out a particular window into the moonlit yards below, Tim spotted a greenish glow from under some vines, out on the overgrown grounds of the house next door.

He headed back out and climbed the fence—it crumbled under his hands—to get to the next property. The webcam feed had shown Nightwing, bathed in a lurid green light, bound in chains, slumped against a brick wall.

Tim closed in on the location that’d caught his eye from the house next door. A small brick shed, its one tiny, high window the source of the green glint he’d seen.

He tried to hail Batman, only to find his signal jammed. He switched frequencies and went for Oracle, who was the one that had first found the private webcam feed, hours after Nightwing had gone missing. No luck.

Tim took a step back. He was not walking into a trap. He’d move to the perimeter and try to the signal the team again.

A twig snapped behind him, sharp in the hot, cicada-filled night air. Tim whirled to see Poison Ivy.

A vine tangled around his foot and yanked him to the ground.

“Not daddy, I see. Damn!”

Another vine surged up, wrapping around his throat. Tim fought it until he couldn’t anymore, until he had to do the only thing left to do. He blacked out.

 

When Tim comes to, he’s on his knees on a dirt floor: blindfolded, gagged and bound. His hands are tied behind his back and—he pulls, hearing a clank and feeling the weight—chained to something. Wherever he is, it’s musty and stinks of rotting vegetation. He falls back, rough brick against the back of his head.

Tim twists in his bonds, but they don’t give. Rope and lots of it, crisscrossing across his body, holding him everywhere. Over his chest, pinning his arms behind his back, wrapping his wrists together, then moving lower. Knots run across his pelvis, then down between his thighs, rubbing against him as he tests. It could be a hogtie, but it’s much more intricate. The hemp, snug against the fabric of his suit, tightens as he fights its hold.

Tim stills. There are panting noises coming from about four feet away, directly in front of him. Soft, panting noises, then a little gasp—it’s Dick.

Cool, nimble fingers pull away Tim’s blindfold.

“Glad you’re up, kid. Just in time.”

Poison Ivy moves out of his line of sight and he can see Nightwing, on his knees, arms and legs spread wide, tethered by cuffs chained to the opposite wall.

Ivy runs a hand through Dick’s hair, carding it back with her fingers before dragging his head back to press her wrist against his damp forehead.

“Got a fever, gorgeous. I wonder how that happened.”

She scrapes a finger down the side of Dick’s face, through sweat and gritty dust that has to be pollen, then pushes and peels back the edge of the gag in Dick’s mouth to dip her finger between his lips.

It’s hard to tell for sure, but it looks like Dick doesn’t really mind. As much as he can—the gag holds his lips apart—it looks like he mouths her finger, sucking. And that’s when Tim sees that the lenses on Nightwing’s domino are down and Dick’s eyes are absolutely blown.

Ivy watches Tim even as she traces her hand over Nightwing’s jaw, down his throat. The strong column of his neck is white in the dim glow of the shed, and Dick’s Adam’s apple bobs as she caresses down. Over his chest, fingers gently scraping his left oblique and across his stomach, then the bowl of Dick’s hip.

Dick bucks up, twisting in his bonds and Tim has to swallow hard around the gag in his mouth, because seeing Dick like this—eyes wild and his body—Dick’s body, so powerful, always totally in his control—for once… not. But mostly because—and it’s equally compelling… disturbing? _Disturbing_. Because there’s nothing between Nightwing and the fabric of his suit. Nothing. It’s not like Nightwing’s uniform’s ever left much to the imagination, but this is much worse than usual. No jock, no groin guard, nothing. And Dick’s hard against the fabric of his uniform, perfectly outlined.

Ivy follows the trajectory of Tim’s gaze. “Nightwing…” Tim ignores the insinuation in her voice, the satisfied little smirk on her face, “persuaded me to let you keep _your_ … protection. Think I should change my mind?”

Dick’s head snaps at her words, an unintelligible curse bursting from around his gag.

Tim forces himself not to pull uselessly at his bonds, and instead to rub his wrists together behind his back, tensing and releasing. He’s already sweaty, and he’s going to get sweatier, make the ropes easier to slip. He glares at the woman who’s putting her hands all over Dick, daring her to watch his face and not the way his arms are moving.

She makes a little moue with her mouth and squeezes Dick’s thigh. “Such pretty bait, don’t you think? And now you too, Robin. What a harvest.” She winks at him. “This’ll catch Batman’s eye.”

Ivy reaches for a length of the rope coiled at Dick’s feet and wraps it around his neck, tying it in a simple square knot against his sternum.

“I learned a few tricks in Tokyo,” Ivy says, free hand running over Dick’s chest. “Went for the bonsai, stayed for the bondage…”

Shibari. Perfect. Ivy’s learned Shibari. Just what they all needed, and of course she’d like it. Tim looks down at the intricate pattern of rope and knots across his own torso.

“Don’t worry, Robin. I know you’re a connoisseur. I’ll leave you two to your… own explorations of my newest art shortly.”

Despite everything else, Tim feels a thrill of triumph. This is just some kind of distraction for Batman, she’s leaving them, and he’s not feeling the pollen yet—or whatever she used. If she even used anything on him. Maybe if he hurries… Tim rubs his wrists harder, feeling the burn of the friction, the way tugging on those bindings pulls every other rope around his body tighter, adds pressure. He blinks back the sweat running into his eyes.

“It should be quite the show.” Ivy shakes her head in mock pity. “The two of you, bound and helpless and… otherwise compromised beaming into every home in Gotham? That’s some real must see TV.”

Tim freezes.

Dick’s eyes widen.

“Should be quite a show. And Bats’ll be too busy looking for you to keep me from rotating the crops at the Downtown Urban Renewal League.”

Ivy cocks her head toward a small miniature tree at her side before putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder blade, pulling him away from the wall so that she can thread the rope behind him.

“Guy wants to cut down my trees. So I got him a really special one…” She glances toward her bonsai. “Pachypodium densiflorum. Modified, of course.”

Her voice is soft but her hands ruthless as she continues weaving, forming a spider web pattern across Dick’s torso.

She pulls the ropes tight and hard and Dick’s fingers scrabble at the cuffs holding his wrists, the metallic clatter of chains loud in the tiny building.

“Shh.” Ivy pats his arm. “Patience, grasshopper.”

Ignoring Dick’s glare, she raises an eyebrow at Tim. “Charming, isn’t it? Binding living flesh and rope? Making something beautiful even more beautiful. And that’s saying something, with this one.”

She lifts Dick’s chin to look in his eyes, then cuts off another length of hemp. “Going to do this with my plants as soon as I can figure out a way to do it with only one vine. Don’t want to cut my babies…”

Ivy winds both ends around Dick’s back, pulling him toward her. Dick lets out a huff around his gag when he lands against her breasts.

“Practiced on you, kid,” she says to Tim, over her shoulder. “Not so much fun when the subjects out, but I think it turned out okay.”

Tim looks down to see same the pattern over his own uniform, his own chest. A center knot radiating out with rope tentacles that meet somewhere… he shifts his shoulders, tensing and releasing. Meet in a large knot in the center of his back.

Ivy narrows her eyes like maybe she realizes Tim’s suddenly feeling the same rope she’s tying around Dick’s chest snake across his own body. “Taking effect yet? I gave you a slower genus,” she stops her work on Dick to look Tim up and down. “Didn’t really want to, but a girl’s got to get Mother Nature’s work done, you know?”

Things are getting worse and Tim—he’s too… warm and he almost feels lulled into some kind of… what, trance?—watching Ivy rhythmically wind and tie Dick’s helpless body. He shakes it off.

“Sensei Morioka called this ‘binding the pearls.’”

Ivy pulls back to admire her efforts, then finishes the knot and slithers her hand over the smooth fabric of Dick’s uniform, across his chest, toying with his… yes. Dick needs more body armor. Maybe it’s the ropes, pressing against his suit, framing his perfect pecs in symmetric web segments, but the... Nightwing needs a redesign. The Nightwing suit definitely does not need to alert you when Dick’s nipples are erect. The general public did not need to see Dick’s ‘pearls’—nobody except the people Dick sometimes showered with should, thank you very much.

Above his gag, Dick’s eyes close as Ivy’s hands wander. His pecs and abs shiver as she pinches first one nipple, then the other through the thin spandex.

Tim feels his face flush, watches Dick actually lean into her touch, and it makes Tim have to jerk in his bonds, almost growl at their captor.

“Don’t worry. I’ll save some for you, kid.”

Ivy threads the new section of rope behind Dick’s back. Urges him forward, and Dick tries to resist, to fight it.

“Calm down, beautiful.” She leans toward him and Tim watches Dick draw back as much as he can, his eyes wild like a spooked horse he’d seen once at Brentwood’s stables.

She has one end of the rope in each hand, the length passed over and across Dick’s pelvis twice, and she pulls, hard. Dick falls forward—like a rag doll beneath her hands and full body pushes—and she ties a knot at the small of his back.

The very knot Tim can feel, right at his tailbone, pressing and insistent. Tim’s seen pictures, he has to keep up with things like this, and he knows what’s next: ‘binding the cherry blossom’.

From that knot, Ivy brings a double line lower, cleaving the perfect globes of Dick’s glutes, and even though he can’t see it, Tim knows that’s exactly where the ropes are going—from Ivy’s movements and the knowing quirk of her lip, from the noises Dick makes when she pulls them tight, and because Tim can feel them on himself, too. He suppresses a sound of his own as Ivy braids the two ropes together into another big round knot halfway down, one that presses at him through his uniform, pressing and teasing his most private place, pressure and pleasure against his most sensitive, most intimate opening.

Dick whimpers, unable to suppress a shudder as Ivy pulls again, threading the lines under his crotch, between his spread legs, setting another knot to press against his –well, Tim swallows, tries to be clinical. It doesn’t help. He, at least, has the protection of his jock. Dick doesn’t. It makes… everything… all of Dick’s… intimate parts visible, pushes everything up—defined and obvious under his skintight suit.

Feeling the rope’s caress around his own body, not wanting to embarrass Dick more by watching, Tim closes his own eyes—but one of them has to keep their head together, has to know what she’s doing. So he forces his eyes open again to see Dick’s head loll forward. A large drop of spit escapes from under the gag in Dick’s mouth, landing with a splat on Ivy’s bared breasts, just above the top of her costume.

She rolls her eyes, swiping a hand across her skin to wipe it off and grabs the ropes again, one end in each hand, dragging the two lengths taut between Dick’s legs. Three quick knots on each side, then the two pieces are joined to the lower tip of the diamond that surrounds Dick’s navel, perfectly edging his manhood.

“Almost done, Nightwing. ‘Framing the eel.’ It’s for a good cause. Close your eyes and think of Gotham.”

Ivy squeezes his hip, then runs a hand down his thigh. She picks up one of the two last rope sections and moves around behind Dick. Tim can hear the chains on Dick’s ankles rattle. Then he sees Dick’s feet yanked to butt-level behind his back and tied together at the ankles, just like his own. His quads shake in sympathy as Dick’s ankles are hoisted as high as Ivy can shove them, forcing Dick’s knees to support all of his weight—except what his arms are handling, still manacled to the wall behind him.

But not for long, because she’s reaching for the last length of rope and then them, too: Dick’s arms. The chains have enough give, and she brings his left wrist to meet his ankles. His other arm, she bends, settling the back of Dick’s right hand flat against his shoulder blade, elbow pointing straight up.

“Don’t think we’ll need these anymore,” Ivy says, removing Dick’s chains and manacles.

Now Dick’s balanced only on his two spread knees, his chest bowed, eyes tearing above his gag. He starts to fall forward but Ivy catches him, lets him fall across her outstretched arm.

“Looks like you’re going to need a little help.” She ruffles his hair, almost gently. A vine springs up, between and just behind Dick’s spread legs.

“Plant stake,” Ivy says, stroking Dick’s cheek, and two more vines follow, braiding and weaving themselves together to form a thick rod that runs from floor to ceiling, between his back and his bound wrists and ankles, sending his upper torso farther forward as it pulls his limbs back, forcing Dick’s pliant body into an even greater bow.

She dusts off her hands and drops a small digital timer on the floor next to Dick’s knee.

“You’re going live in twenty minutes. I’ll be taking out a bad seed; you’ll be sowing new ones on the internet. Nature’s symmetry.”

She stands, fingers tapping on Tim’s head, which is just at the level of her crotch. “Oh, almost forgot. I left every one of those ropes ready to untie. Part of my sensei’s tradition. All you have to do is find just the right place… to pull.” She reaches down and tugs Tim’s gag away. “Such sharp little teeth. Maybe they’ll help you, if you can find the right knots in time. Unless…”

Tim works his jaw, tries to make his tongue cooperate. “Unless what?”

“Unless you two want to put on a little…” She kneels beside him in the dirt and her hand reaches down to cup Tim’s jock. “A little performance for me before the time is...” she says, squeezing. “Up.”

Tim chokes back a gasp.

“I mean, _that_ would get Batman’s attention, wouldn’t it? Bet I’d have him under my little green thumb with dirt like that.”

She sighs, staring off into the distance. Then shakes her head, straightening her shoulders, hand still on Tim’s crotch.

“Got to go, but I’ll be watching. You two pollinate before my ten o’clock date with arboreal destiny and I’ll…” she eases her grip. “I’ll take off the pressure. Turn off the internet feed. It could just be something for… us.”

Tim jerks his body away from her, but he can’t dislodge her hand from his crotch.

It’s too much, too intimate, and when she uses her other hand to stroke his jaw, Tim tries to bite her.

“Oh!” She snatches both hands away just in time. “You’re getting a little feral, Boy Wonder. Can’t wait to see how else you get.” Ivy flashes something at him. It’s a Blackberry, and there are the three of them, live on her screen.

She reaches behind him and Tim hears the scrape of metal on metal, then feels chains drop away, clanking on the dirt floor.

He almost pitches forward. A single finger at his breastbone stops him and Tim hates that Poison Ivy’s the only reason he’s not laying on his stomach with a mouthful of dirt.

“Come on now, Robin. Come to Nightwing.”

It takes him a minute to figure out what she wants before it clicks.

Tim’s knees are aching but still, he manages to knee walk to Dick, her finger on his chest, keeping his body from pitching forward. He might as well be on a leash.

“Good boy.”

With the hand that’s not holding Tim up, Ivy pets Dick’s hair. “Think you can talk him into it, precious?”

Dick rolls his eyes. They’re dilated, half-closed, and it loses some of the effect, so Tim glares at Ivy for him, too.

“Shame I can’t stay to play, but I’ve got a delivery to make.” She lets go, moves her finger from Tim’s chest.

It takes every bit of Tim’s concentration and balance not to tip forward the few inches it would take to land against Dick while she watches. He won’t give her that, won’t do it in front of her.

Ivy picks up her bonsai. At the door, she pauses. “Have fun, boys. Tell Bats I said ‘hi’.”

Tim maintains his balance, trembling, until the shed’s door closes behind her, and then he falls, landing against Dick and his body’s so sensitized—yes. He can feel every tremor of Dick’s every muscle group, every shaking stutter of his own.

“Tim,” Dick says around the gag. “Timmy.”

And Tim almost can’t make it out except he can—knows it—knows the cadence, even muffled against the rag Ivy shoved in Dick’s mouth.

With every ounce of his will, every straining muscle of his body, Tim pulls back. But it’s no use. He falls forward again, feeling the ‘oomph’ and Dick’s chest muscles contract as he lands, hears Dick hiss out air.

“Tim.” Dick says, or tries to say. It's garbled by the gag but Tim knows Dick, knows the way he says his name. Dick’s working his shoulders and his arms, flexing and releasing, then his chest and stomach, bouncing him, jostling him with a push. “Robin.”

Dick’s eyes are pleading and Tim finally gets it.

He tilts his head, places his mouth against Dick’s so that only the cloth of the gag is separating them. Tim nips the cloth, damp with Dick’s saliva, and tugs it, away from between Dick’s parted lips, where it’s tied too tightly for Dick to even close his mouth. His own lips skate against Dick’s as he bites into the thing, tasting Dick, feeling Dick’s lips and tongue through the cotton. He tugs and pulls and all moist warmth from their mouths makes the fabric stretchy enough that it has a little give.

Dick’s working, too, using his tongue to push the cloth between Tim’s teeth so Tim can get a better grasp. Dick’s dragging his mouth and jaw upwards, and Tim’s pulling the gag downwards and away with his teeth and their bodies are grinding as they push and slide and tug and pull and it’s all for the mission and it’s too much. Too much. His dick aches in his jock and he can’t get enough and then it’s way too much. Hurting and building and all he can see and smell and feel is Dick.

The gag slides down Dick’s neck and the change in tension, going from pulling against something almost immovable to something in motion, makes Tim’s body drop backwards.

“Careful!”

Tim responds with a broken groan, but no words, because he doesn’t let go of the damp cloth, just breathes around it for a minute, resettling his body’s center of gravity. He does a seven breath kata, but his exhalations are too fast and instead of focusing on the air leaving and filling his body all he’s aware of is Dick: the massive wall of muscle and lean strength and supple, slippery uniform, Dick’s “Shh, Timmy,” and Dick, working his arm like he’d pull it out of his socket to touch him and Tim knows Dick would be hugging him right now—some kind of manly grasp meant to be reassuring, if only he could move—Dick’s heart, beating against his, Dick’s … Oh, god. Maybe they should go ahead and play by Ivy’s rules. It’d be so easy…

He slowly opens his mouth, releasing the fabric of the gag. Just as slowly, careful not to lose his balance, he raises his head. Dick’s eyes are heavy lidded, lust-tinged, and he’s staring down at Tim with an expression Tim’s not sure he can read before he flicks his tongue out to wet his chapped lips.

“Tim,” he says, hoarse and ragged. “Knife.”

Pushing back the haze of want, of sheer physical need, Tim forces out the word. “Knife?”

Dick nods. “I—“

“Where?”

“Under...” Dick grunts as he shifts enough to lift his right knee, and Tim sees the sliver of a blade, glittering in the dirt.

It’s small—just a utility knife. But their salvation. They can get out of this in time. Nobody else has to see this, gets to see this, Dick hot and sexy and—vulnerable. Nobody.

Tim pushes off from Dick’s chest, from the solid, reassuring muscle, sliding down, knee walking backwards. His face drags along Dick’s chest, over quivering abs, then lower—and he can’t help but notice how slick Dick’s uniform is, the… closer he gets. Dick’s slick and hard and they’re about to be on broadcast television, the internet, youtube or whatever the hell and he has to fight the urge to mouth the wetness there, so he just drags himself through it. Then curses as his nose hits the knot between Dick’s legs.

The pain flares through his cartilage. “Ow!”

“Careful, Tim.” Dick’s voice is strained, mangled.

So is Tim’s when he almost hits the dirt of the floor with a cry. The thing that saves him, keeps him from falling nose first, is Dick’s right hand. He may or may not have practically dislocated his shoulder to get his arm free, but he’s finally done it, and he catches Tim—just as Tim’s about to bite it on the hard dirt—then hauls him up.

It’s tricky and awkward and Tim makes it to the hollow of Dick’s navel, visible under the suit, damp just below the lowest angle of a diamond-shaped rope frame, and rests for a second, panting.

Dick’s panting too, like he’s doing all the work, and judging by the way he can’t stop staring at Tim’s progress and his arm’s flexing, he’s doing plenty.

So Dick lets him balance there, lets go of the bicep he’s holding, and reaches for the blade.

But a tendril lashes out, too fast, from the trio of braided vines behind him and snatches the knife away. Grabs it and the vine blasts up with it, surging toward the small window above their heads. It crashes against the glass hard enough to shatter, and climbs on out the window, carrying their salvation with it, into the sultry night.

“Guess she _is_ watching.”

“Huh.” Dick hauls him up so that they’re chest to chest again.

“How’d you get it?”

“Distraction, Robin.”

Guilt rushes over Tim. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I’d do anything for you, Timmy,” Dick says, hand rubbing at the nape of Tim’s neck. “But that didn’t have anything to do with not letting her molest you. Just hid it while she was cutting rope. Wasn’t hard.”

“Oh.” Tim tries not to think about whatever Dick _did_ do.

Dick’s arm is around him, holding him close. Holding him close to hold him up, holding him close as he works on the knots between his wrists—Tim knows, but still. All Tim wants, with every cell of his being, is to grind against him, feel Dick writhe, come with him. Give them both what they want, even if it is wrong. Even if it’s not the way he dreamed it would be, hoped it’d be someday. Worse, even though it’s not something he even knows Dick wants, ever. Not if he was in his right mind.

His heart isn’t listening to reason right now, though. And neither are his more… primitive instincts. In the long run, it’d save Dick, that part of him says. Save Dick to let him, to feel him like that. To feel Dick’s body at the moment when Dick comes, to see Dick’s face when he pours himself between the two of them, watch Dick lose it, give it up.

He tilts his head back to see Dick’s eyes. But they’re closed, his fingers working by touch to untie Tim’s wrists.

Tim wants to kiss him. Wants to kiss Dick’s mouth, taste him and feel those lips against his. He’s wanted it for so very long and Dick’s so close, so hard against him, so…

He touches his lips to Dick’s mouth and it’s like an electric shock.

Dick’s eyes fly open and he pulls back. “Timmy, I…”

“I know you don’t like me like me like this, but I thought…”

“What?”

“The way I like you.”

“Timmy,” Dick groans, centimeters from his lips, “Please…”

Tim doesn’t want to stop long enough to answer with words. In some far, inconsequential part of his mind he hears himself moan, needy and urgent as he pulls closer.

And hears another sound. In his ear, from his communicator. Static, and then he hears… Batman.

“Oracle, status?”

Tim stiffens in Dick’s embrace.

“Robin here.” His voice is shaky. He clears his throat and tries again, then again. No answer. Batman and Oracle just keep talking to each other and he shuts up so he can hear them, moves his temple to Dick’s ear so that Dick can listen, too.

“Lost my video feed. Webcam program still running, going live in four minutes, fifty-seven sec—”

“Shutdown imminent?”

“Triangulating transmission origin. Estimated permanent shutdown possible in seventeen minutes, three point five seconds.”

“Do it faster.”

Tim knows Oracle’s tone well enough to hear the creeping exasperation. “Working on it. Your status?”

“House to house, narrowing area. Check in again in two minutes. Out.”

“They’ve lost the feed, Dick.”

“That means…”

“They can’t see us until we…” Tim glances down at the timer’s lurid green digits. “Until we go live in four and three-quarter minutes.”

Dick exhales, ragged and shuddering.

“I’ve… I’ve got to find the right… knots,” Tim says, and starts working his way down the front of Dick’s chest, using his teeth to bite his way down Dick’s uniform, using his teeth and Dick’s arm, still around him, again working at his wrists, to keep from pitching backward on the floor.

He bites his way to Dick’s chest, lower and lower until the round medallion of knots in the center of Dick’s sternum is right in front of him. He mouths it, letting the scratchy rope scrape his lips and tongue, searching. Using his lips and teeth to try to separate a single strand from the mass of knotted tangles, testing each.

Dick’s murmur is a stream of encouraging words and syllables, coming fast and jumbled.

Tim must try a dozen strands before he finds one that’s loose enough that he can actually set his teeth into it. It’s raspy and dry and tastes like straw. Tim swallows and pulls, guiding his front teeth together around the thing. Then he jerks his head, bites harder and slips, freeing the end of the rope, even as it tips him back. He almost falls, but he doesn’t, pulling forward again, his face half smashed against the rough cord, half against the sweaty fabric of Dick’s uniform, filling his senses with Dick’s scent.

“Try your wrists, Tim.”

Tim does, and gets his left hand free. It’s good, but it’s not enough.

“Hurry, do the other one.”

“God, Tim. I’m trying.”

“We’re not going to make it in time.”

“No,” Dick groans as he pulls

“I’ve got to keep going. This one’s loose… we can’t…”

“Robin?” It’s Oracle, in Tim’s ear.

“Oracle?” Tim says.

“Yes! Knew I’d zero in. What’s your twenty?”

“Potting shed. Behind … he searches his mind for the address. 2021 Prosper.”

“I’m zeroing in. Going to shut down… Yes!”

“Are we good?”

“We’re good. You’re not going live anymore. I’ll send Batman to help you—“

“No, don’t! Run a list of Urban Renewal League big-shots.”

“Already done.”

“Which one lives closest to Robinson Park?”

“Hang on, I think there’s one in a new high rise in the renovated district just west… yeah. A loft at in Midtown. Ten minutes from your location.”

“Bingo. That’s Ivy’s hit, then. Send Batman.”

“You’re right, Tim.” Dick says. He’s grinning.

“We can, um…” Tim hesitates, watching Dick’s face. “We can get ourselves out of this mess, if Batman can pick up Ivy.”

“Trying to hail him now,” Oracle says. “But are you sure you’re okay?”

“Can’t you tell?” Dick asks, breath hot on Tim’s cheek as he speaks into Tim’s com.

“Lost the feed eight minutes ago, but you both looked pretty—”

“We’re getting more and more okay by the minute. Tim’s got us half untied already and I’m sure he’s up to the task…”

“We’ll call if we have trouble,” says Tim.

“Yeah, but you both looked pretty zonked and—”

“We really don’t need… ‘zonked’ Batman here too,” Dick says.

“Point taken.”

“Can you get rid of the vid, Oracle?”

“You didn’t go live. Just the one copy, and I’ve got it.”

“Yeah, that’d be the one.” Dick smiles a lopsided, loopy smile against Tim’s temple.

“Whoops, got to go. Batman on the other channel,” Oracle says. “Will check in again in five.”

Dick rolls his eyes at the ensuing static and mouths the edges of Tim’s ear.

“Now what's this about who not wanting who, anyway? Do I need to take away your detective card?”

Tim nods, breathing into his neck, feeling Dick’s warm breath, the puffs of air landing rhythmically on his hair. He tilts his head back and Dick’s lips part, getting closer. Dick’s getting ready to kiss him and it’s everything Tim’s ever wanted. He meets Dick’s mouth with his own and lets Dick taste him, lets Dick’s tongue trace the cupid’s bow of his lip, tease it’s way in. He opens his mouth to Dick, lets his body surge and move against Dick.

Dick’s eyes are closed, and his tongue’s thrusting in, sweet and clever and insistent. Tim lets him, lets his body give it up for the guy he’s wanted since he first knew what it was to want.

Dick shoves against him and Tim looks up at him, searching his eyes. He wants this. Dick wants this, wants him and he gives in to what he wants too. More than anything. Pushes toward Dick. His ankles come free and he feels them hit the dirt floor behind him, barely noticing. The rope around his hands unravel and he wraps both arms around Dick—one at his shoulder, one at his waist. He grinds against Dick and lets go—he’s been at the brink for so long now, so ready, and Dick’s needy and gasping in his arms, pushing back, giving him something to leverage against, giving him everything and Tim has to open his eyes to watch Dick, watch Dick stare back at him as he pushes and slides against his uniform, slick with pre-come, rocking against his hard length, again and again until Tim has to close his eyes and Dick catches his mouth, takes him with his tongue as he comes, pulsing into his jock, gasping as the white light behind his eyelids overwhelms him.

Tim opens his eyes again, and Dick’s smiling down at him, kneading his butt through the trembles and aftershocks. And then he drags his hardness against him. Dick pushes and groans and throws his head back and it’s as beautiful as Tim knew it would be. As open and hot and urgent and joyous as he’d knew Dick would be and Tim feels him splash against his hip—hot and wet and through both of their uniforms. He holds him close, buries his face in Dick’s neck, against Dick’s skin, against the gag still looped around his neck, against Dick’s heart.

They’re like that, breathing against each other, panting and slowing their breaths together until a sound jostles them both.

It’s Batman’s voice, over the communicator.

“Ivy in custody.”

“Acknowledged,” says Oracle. “Bonsai?”

“Confiscated. Quarantined.”

Robin has to go ahead and ask. “Blackberry?”

“Confiscated.”

Tim’s stomach drops and Dick winces.

“Unfortunately, device lost.”

“Repeat?” Oracle says, and this time Tim’s sure he can hear a smile in her voice.

“Device lost. Dropped twenty-seven stories. Data irretrievable.” Batman clears his throat. “Robin?”

“Yes.”

“Is assistance necessary?”

Tim feels his face suffuse with heat. “No.”

“Access to antihistamines?”

“Affirmative.” Dick answers for him, cocking his head toward Robin’s utility belt, lying in the far corner.

“Then I’ll expect you and Nightwing in the cave at 2300 hours. Decontaminated.”

Tim's face is still hot, but Dick's smile against the side of his cheek makes everything a little easier to handle.

"Acknowledged. Robin out."  



End file.
